The Lost
by Jacinda
Summary: Jordan runs from Boston after Malden is murdered - Woody follows her. (WJ(Chapter 3 and 4 re-written)
1. Chapter 1

The sun burns my shoulders, but I don't care . . . I'm just happy to be somewhere other than Boston. I make my way down the boardwalk; I've walked this boardwalk once before. Last time, I was waiting for Herman Redding. I don't know what drew me back here; maybe it was the fact that here was where the search for my mother's killer spun out of control. It began with Herman Redding . . . it ended in suicide. The Malden fiasco didn't answer any questions, it just created more. I wanted to be as far away from those questions as possible.

Two weeks ago, I called Agent Haley. It was something I told myself that I would never do, but I needed a way out of how complicated everything at home was. I don't even know if I can still call Boston home . . . my father isn't there . . . my brother is somewhere in the river . . . Malden is dead . . . and well, I have nothing there anymore. Home implies family; I'm not sure if I have any family left.

Garrett told me to mourn my father and my brother. It seemed silly to mourn for someone who wasn't dead; it seemed sillier to mourn someone that I never knew. I was mourning my entire family. It was hard to do this alone; I always relied on my father to pick up the pieces when I could not. This time, it was just me to survive, but even I, was licking my own wounds.

I'm not sure if Garrett fired me; I'm not sure if he even knows. I told him I was going to California to do a little extra training. He made me promise that I would come back, but I wasn't sure if that was the truth. Haley told me that he could use my expertise. A profiler and a medical examiner; Haley had a case that he said he could use some help on. I just wanted out, but he knew without asking. What's the only reason a one night stand calls the man that dug her out of a coffin . . . escape. I needed to escape into something vaguely comforting and vaguely recognizable. I remember feeling safe around Haley; he didn't let people in. You can't get hurt by what you cannot touch. I told myself that this would become my mantra.

Why did I leave? Why didn't I leave is a better question . . . I left Boston with damage equivalent to a hurricane. Nigel, Peter, and Bug all being reprimanded for protecting me and helping me to protect James. I left them apologies; small notes that wouldn't make what I did better. Garret was left to explain to Renee why Malden was dead . . . who killed him. The answer was obvious this time; well, to me it was obvious that James killed Malden. To Renee, that would probably sound like some bizarre fabrication that could only come from the Cavanaugh family. Woody was suspended and there was a court marshal pending for letting Dad run. I couldn't think off what to say to Garrett and Woody. I didn't want to cause them anymore pain; I would let myself downward spiral, but I wouldn't take them down with me this time.

"Cavanaugh . . . it's good to see you," Haley said. I hadn't noticed that he was standing next to me on the pier.

"Haley . . . when do I start?" I asked. I knew he would appreciate my honesty; like me, he didn't pussy-foot around any situation.

"Tomorrow morning . . . you'll have to be cleared by the government," Haley said.

"How long is that going to take?" I asked. I longed to lose myself in my work . . . anything to forget the pain that I was feeling.

"A day . . . maybe two . . . you don't have any priors do you?" Haley inquired. He smiled an easy smile. It made me feel a little more at home. We both gazed at the ocean . . . the waves gently rolling along the white sand.

"No, I'm clean," I replied.

"What brings you here, Jordan?" Haley asked never making eye contact with me.

"You are the profiler . . . shouldn't you already know?" I challenged him. He did know; from the tone of his voice I knew that he did his fair share of background work.

"I do know . . . I'm just trying to see if you will tell me," Haley replied.

"I need intense work to get my mind off some things in Boston. The more you give me, the better," I replied.

"Well, I do have a case that I'm working on . . . an arsonist. Care to talk about it over dinner?" Haley asked smirking. I hated that smirk.

"Where are you taking me?" I asked trying to smile . . . trying my hardest, but it wouldn't come out.

"My place," he replied. I wasn't too keen on following him home; after all, I am a bad historian. I tend to let history repeat itself.

Boston: Nigel's POV

"Oh . . . Jordan," I sighed as I ready the note taped to my computer screen. Even in her more fragile times, I loved her . . . the more fragile she got, the more I loved her. She said that she was going away for a while, but she thanked me for everything I did for her, Max, and James. It broke my heart; I was afraid that it didn't ring as a good-bye for now, but rather a good-bye forever. She ran again . . . I knew that she would, but I wasn't looking forward to the day. I reasoned that it had to be genetic.

"Nigel, where's Jordan? I need her for a pick-up," Garrett said as he walked into my office. He looked haggard.

"She's gone," I replied. I assumed that she left something for him; he was like family to her.

"What do you mean she's gone?" Garrett asked. His skin flushed white; he knew the answer before he asked the question.

"I don't know, but it doesn't sound like she's coming back anytime soon," I replied. He must not have gotten a note; it was probably in the mail . . . like last time.

"Did you talk to her?" Garrett asked. His voice faltered a little bit; I knew he loved Jordan like a sister. I knew it hurt him to see Jordan hurting.

"No, she's left me a note," I replied as I looked down at the stationary adorned with her sloppy penmanship. I hoped that someday soon I would see it again.

He stormed out of my office; I followed him . . . I knew he was going into Jordan's office. He hurriedly unlocked the door pausing briefly to prepare himself to see an empty office; I was hoping Jordan would still be here sitting behind her desk with a file open, she'd yell at us for not knocking. The only thing on her desk was her guitar and a manila envelope.

Garrett opened the envelope to find the phantom print and another piece of paper. He scrutinized it; it was the deed to the Pogue. Her last act was to give it to Garrett . . . the post-it said 'Keep it warm for me.' Everything else was as she left.

Woody's POV

Today . . . Today was the first day of my suspension. My return to work of dependent on if they found out that I let Max run; that I tried to protect him and Jordan from the monster that Malden was and the monster that Max could be. Dirty money; all he wanted was dirty money to raise his daughter with. Why not . . . he had spent all his money on inpatient treatment for his mentally ill wife. Cops don't make that much money; we sure don't have that good of health care. His wife's treatment had to have tapped him out.

I haven't been sleeping well; my nightmares are haunted by the sight of James freefalling into the river and the look of sheer horror on Jordan's face. I was most disturbed when Jordan looked as if she was contemplating joining James on the ledge. For a minute, I thought we would be looking for two bodies in the river; two people trying to escape from all their demons.

Jordan effectively spliced me out of her life; she knew that she couldn't trust me. I arrested her when she came to me; I don't think she realized that I did that to protect her. She didn't tell me about Malden drugging her; I heard it second hand from Garrett. She only told him because he found her in the alley way behind her apartment. I didn't know whether to feel guilty or be mad at her . . . mad at her for making me the corrupt cop . . . making me keep secrets. I didn't know who's secrets were worse Jordan's or Malden's. I think she knew that the blood was on her hands. Finding her mother's killer did not bring her the solace that she thought it would.

I get off the couch and go to the door of my apartment to get the newspaper. The next few days would be like a Sunday morning . . . lazy, slow. There envelope on the welcome mat covered with her handwriting; I felt my stomach drop. The outside said 'sorry' . . . the inside contained a sizeable check. Jordan once said if I ever needed anything to ask her; during my last suspension, I told her to solve the case soon so I could pay my rent. Well, this time I got what I asked for . . . rent money.

She wasn't going to be on Pearle street anymore. I knew that she was gone; she took her terrors with her. This was her way of protecting me; the rent money was her way of saying good-bye. I knew it wasn't that she didn't care . . . she just didn't know if there were words to describe what she was feeling about herself and me. For the first time in her life, Jordan was a loss of words. She needed to leave until she wasn't lost anymore.


	2. Chapter 2

Work; I keep telling myself that tomorrow I will be able to throw myself into my work. Today, I was fingerprinted, my DNA was taken; I talked to psychiatrists and to talk to detectives. Haley vouched for me; He said that I would be good. Haley fed me some stupid line about me being the best in Boston. Best my ass; do good medical examiners hurt everyone around them for a stupid case? I don't think they do.

I lay across the bed of a crappy little hotel located two blocks from the ocean boardwalk. It was dirty and the neighbors sub-par. I could hear over ambitious moaning last night; she was faking. I assumed she was a prostitute. It didn't really matter to me; this wasn't home and no matter how hard I tried, this still wouldn't be home. Boston plagued my thoughts; I wondered what they were doing. I thought about calling; just to say hi, but I dialed Garrett four times, but the cotton in my mouth prevented me from getting any words out. It was better for me to stay away from them anyways. I didn't want to set a new record by emotionally torturing my friends from thousands of miles away.

I pulled off my clothes . . . turned on the shower . . . tried to rinse away all my thoughts . . . make myself clean . . . my thoughts pure. The last time I was pure . . . well, it was when I was under the age of ten. I carried around more baggage . . . more hurtful things than I cared to admit.

I dressed carefully; Haley said to look nice. He said that we could have a fancy supper. I knew what he would be wearing; it would be the standard issue FBI agent uniform of black suit, white, starched dress shirt, and black tie. I wore a skirt; I owned two of these to church twice a year . . . Christmas and Easter. My faith hung by a thread if it was even there anymore.

"Jordan, you should really lock your door," Haley said. I startled; I was in the bathroom putting on the little make-up that I knew how to use . . . powder, mascara and blush. You needed a mother to teach you about the intricacies of make up. Maybe that's why I thought I could never look glamorous like the girls had caught Woody staring at.

"I didn't realize," I replied.

"I knocked for five minutes. Where were you, Jordan?" Haley asked as he watched me from the doorway. I could feel his eyes all over my body. His smile was approving; as if, he didn't believe that I could possibly pull myself together like this.

"Lost . . . I was lost," I replied. It was by far the most honest thing I had said in weeks. I could be honest with Haley even if he had never been honest with me. I could be honest with him because he wouldn't let me in anyways. You can't hurt what you can't touch.

"I know you are . . . someone's trying to locate you via your cell phone GPS system," Haley replied.

"Do you guys watch everything?" I replied . . . it sounded much more curt than I meant for it to.

"When it happens to involve our newest ME, I do. Jordan, what did you run from?" Haley asked. He didn't mince words; he went straight for the marrow in the bone.

"I ran from everything. Haley, don't psychoanalyze me . . . I don't need it right now," I gathered my purse and stood by the door.

"Jordan . . . I don't need to analyze . . . you read just like a book," Haley said as we walked out of my room. I locked the door. Haley nodded approvingly.

"Tell me about your case," I demanded as we got into his black Crowne Victoria . . . the same as Woody drove.

"Jordan, are you ready to commit to this case? It needs your full attention . . . I need you to work with me . . . not against me," Haley said.

"Haley, I have no where else to be, but here," I replied.

"I have five charred buildings . . . the same incendiary device . . . and letters from whoever did this. He likes to call himself the 'Firestarter.' Well, my friend has killed five children," Haley said.

"What do they all have in common?" I asked. Haley always had something up his sleeve.

"Nothing . . . thus far they have nothing in common," Haley replied, "Jordan, I need you to dig for me . . . you just call me when you want to violate search warrants and do some breaking and entering."

"Haley, you have my full attention," I replied as Haley began to drive down streets lined with multimillion dollar hotels. All I could think about was how this wasn't Boston.

Boston: Woody's POV

"Nigel, isn't there anything else you can do?" I asked pacing the room. Nigel tried to work his magic on the computer for well over three days. Her cell phone was the closest we came to finding out where she might be, but the database didn't show her as a valid user. It was as if she disappeared. I called her cell phone five times . . . it rang . . . I got her voice mail. Invalid user my ass.

I wondered what the hell was going on. Even with her GPS disabled, the phone company should at least have record of her having a cell phone. Something was wrong with this picture; Jordan was being deleted. I knew she ran, but I didn't think that she would fall off the earth.

"Woodrow, Jordan is gone . . . the ball is in her court. She always comes home . . . she just needs time to do whatever it is that clears her head," Nigel said.

"How long was she gone last time?" I asked. Four days seemed like a long time; I carried that stupid check with me each day. I was hoping she would be in her office, so I could return it.

"Two years," Nigel replied. Wow, I didn't think she would be gone that long. So much can change in two years; so much had already changed in two days.

"Is Dr. Macy available?" a tall, dark-suited man asked. He was FBI; his mannerisms and dress confirmed that.

"He's in his office . . . down the hall to the right," Nigel replied, "Aren't you . . . the profiler . . . the Digger case?"

"Agent Haley," he replied. I had heard stories about the digger case, but it wasn't something regularly talked about in the office. It was too personal; it had hurt Jordan badly. She refused to speak of it; along with the topic of her mother, Digger was a taboo that I never dared to bring up.

"Where is she? Do you know where she is?" Nigel asked. I knew he assumed the worst; I did too. It wasn't every day that the FBI was present in the Boston ME office.

"She's with me," he replied, "Jordan is working on some federal cases. She's classified, so you can stop trying to locate her."

"I want to see her," Nigel demanded.

"You can't . . . she's not here. I just need to collect a few things from her office . . . a few personal things she has requested," Haley said as he disappeared out of the room down the hall; I followed him.

"Is she okay?" I asked. I struggled to keep up with his rapid pace. He didn't bother to look back at me; I didn't have any authority to make him. I was in street clothes; my court marshal wasn't until this afternoon. NO badge, no gun; I was a shell of a cop.

"Detective Hoyt . . . I suggest you worry about your own problems before you worry about Jordan," Haley replied curtly.

"Is Jordan okay?" I asked again this time raising my voice to somewhere between a yelling and a forceful tone.

"Jordan is doing fine . . . she even seems happy," Haley replied. I tried to catch up with him pushing Peter out of my way to get to Haley. Haley knew that this was the most hurtful thing he could possibly say to me. He didn't seem to care. Jordan must have said something about our tangled relationship, if you could even call it a relationship anymore.

"Where is she?" I demanded.

"That's classified, Detective Hoyt," Haley replied.

"I need to know where she is," I yelled at him. I needed to know that she was safe; I needed to know that she wasn't still reeling in the downward spiral she left in.

"Hoyt, don't push . . . don't probe . . . Jordan doesn't belong to Boston anymore," Haley said as he pushed me up against the wall knocking the wind out of me and catching me by surprise, "I have an appointment with Dr. Macy . . . you should be headed to your court marshal . . . you wouldn't want to be late."

He released me and walked away. I didn't follow this time.

"What the hell is going on?" Peter asked.

"Jordan . . . Jordan is with him," I said breathlessly.

"Who is he?" Peter asked. Things concerning Jordan didn't affect him the way it did everyone; sometimes, I thought he was lucky to be so far removed from the situation.

"I hope Nigel knows," I replied turning on my heel. Nigel was already furiously typing on his computer.

"He's not on any out-bound flight. I'm trying to figure out where the FBI has him stationed . . . I'm not having much luck," Nigel said.

"Who is Agent Haley? I've heard about Digger, but . . .," I replied trailing off.

"Profiler for the FBI . . . he's obsessed and hard-headed like Jordan," Nigel replied.

"There is the possibility that Jordan went with him willingly," Peter replied.

"Jordan and Haley . . . there was more than a little animosity between them," Nigel replied.

"There is more than a little animosity between Jordan and everyone," Peter replied as he left the room.

"I can't find him . . . he's classified," Nigel said. I had never heard him admit defeat. How could she be happy; Haley's words confused me. How can two people that don't exist on paper possibly be happy?

Haley's POV

I felt bad for the kid; Hoyt looked like he was just a kid . . . too young for the mess that Jordan had made. I offered to let her go to Boston to collect some items from her office that she hastily left behind a week ago. She refused; Jordan claimed that she had hurt everyone there so bad that she couldn't even face them. I believed her; I believed her even more when I saw the computer guy and Hoyt. She had only been gone a week, but they had already filed missing persons reports, started tracing her telephone calls, and trying to locate her with the GPS device in her cell phone. It seemed like a lot of work to find someone that didn't want to be found. I had to make sure that the FBI classified her work; I asked them to make her disappear much like I disappeared after my ex-wife murdered my baby.

They both looked miserable; before I left Jordan said to be kind to them, especially Hoyt. It was hard to be kind to them; I didn't want them to know why she was running, but part of me wanted to scream at them that she ran to protect them from herself. That's why I ran; it was the only way to stop hurting the people that I loved the most. Only a unique few understand it . . . they are the lost . . . the people who have nothing . . . the people who have isolated themselves from the world . . . the people that run to try to find comfort in something that only seems recognizable at a distance. Jordan and I were the lost.

Jordan didn't talk much; she spent her first two days on the job reviewing charts from the previous autopsies. I watched her work; it was meticulous and detail-oriented. Her work was an art in itself. It was full of a masterful beauty that I had so rarely seen.

We had supper together every evening; it was better than being isolated. I asked Jordan what had happened to make her run from the place she nearly gave her life to protect. She shut down; I could see the demons in her eyes. It was the same way I shut down when confronted about my son, a son that I would never know.

"Dr. Macy," I said as I walked into his office.

"Agent Haley, is Jordan in trouble?" Dr. Macy asked. I closed the office door; I was pretty sure Hoyt was listening somewhere . . . somehow.

"No, she's not in trouble. Jordan has requested a few personal items . . . I would like to return them to her," I replied. He looked so different from the man that helped me dig Jordan out of a coffin; he looked so much more tired.

"Where is she?" Dr. Macy demanded much more weakly than Hoyt just had.

"She's safe . . . she's working. Jordan and I . . . I'll return her in a few weeks," I replied ineptly as I tried to search for the right words.

"What does Jordan need?" Dr. Macy asked looking a little more relieved.

"Her guitar, her laptop, her patriots blanket . . . and the pictures on her shelf," I said reading the list; it was nearly impossible to read her handwriting.

"I'll open her office," Dr. Macy. Her office was untouched; garbage still in the garbage can and files still on the corner of her desk. I could see the computer guy watching me as I quickly gathered her things . . . the photographs startled me . . . they all were so happy . . . her and Hoyt . . . her and the computer guy . . . and her and all her co-workers . . . they looked like haunting memories.

"Could you please give her this?" Dr. Macy said as he handed me an envelope . . . sealed.

"Sure. Thank you for her cooperation," I replied trying to make the best of the discomfort I was feeling; I felt like I was uprooting a family . . . taking someone away.

"Tell Jordan . . . tell her that I love her . . . tell her to be careful," Dr. Macy said, "Tell her that she needs to come home . . . tell her that this morning we were able to bring James home. Tell her that Woody . . . he's trying to find her."

That . . . that was enormous. The little reading I did about Jordan, a few newspaper articles, I knew who James was. I wasn't sure what Jordan would do.

"I'll do that. Don't worry about Jordan . . . she'll be kept safe," I replied. I exited her office walking a quickly as possible trying to leave the damage and pain that I had just inflicted behind me.


	3. Chapter 3

LA: Jordan's POV

There were five children lined up on the shining stainless steel tables. Their ages ranged from fourteen to a mere eight months old. All had the same dirty blonde hair and blue eyes. Their eyes were the color of the ocean; the same color as Woody's. The children were small and malnourished; I wondered where their mother was. I wanted nothing more than to give these children names. The mother was probably running from prostitution or drug charges; LA wasn't all that different from Boston. People still had the same motives for their stupid actions.

I saw photographs of the fire; I saw the flames rise high enough as to reach the heavens. I'm not sure exactly how the children's bodies managed to stay so well-preserved. I was thankful that the children were lulled into a deep sleep by the noxious fumes. They were already gone before the flames slowly began to creep into their living space. The flames nipped at their skin leaving horrible burn marks. The smell nauseated me; the sight made me feel shame for the entire human race . . . I wondered who would do this to a defenseless children. I wondered if the perpetrator even knew that he or she killed five innocent souls.

This was my third day of work. It felt good to have my hands busy. It felt good to work until I was so exhausted that my body fell into deep sleep before my head even hit the pillow. Haley would often take me to his house after work for supper and a few glasses of wine. We would talk about work and other things that seemed so insignificant compared to the five little bodies in the morgue. I began to understand why I was here; Haley didn't want to have to look at the body of the eight month old boy. The baby was the same age as his son; the son his wife drown in the bathtub following her first schizophrenic break. His wounds were so fresh even after years of latency.

"Jordan, I got your stuff from Boston. A Patriots blanket? Last time I checked, there were a multitude of stores in LA. You could have found this blanket somewhere in the city rather than sending me to Boston for the day," Haley replied as he put a cardboard box on the corner of my new desk. He pressed an envelope into my hand. I knew the handwriting immediately . . . Garrett. I hoped he was well; I hoped he didn't take my careless actions personally.

"They don't have this blanket . . . this blanket has always been home," I replied. I could feel a smile play upon my lips; I hadn't smiled often since I got to LA. I saw Haley take note of this. He smiled at me; he looked like a completely different person when he smiled. He didn't look so hard; he didn't look so unwelcoming.

"Jordan, Dr. Macy . . . you should give him a call," Haley said as he sat on the corner of my desk.

"What did he say?" I asked. I was afraid to know. I was afraid to hear that I was fired. I was afraid to hear that my closest ally might not want me to come back to Boston once I found my center.

"Jordan, they found James," Haley said with a sigh. I set the envelope down on my desk. I could feel the air get trapped in my lungs. I didn't know how to react to the death of a man that I never really knew. I didn't know what to think about the man that so badly wanted me to die with him. I didn't know if I should feel guilty that he died alone in the murky waters of the St. James River.

"James," I whispered; his name floated over my lips . . . it lingered there.

"Jordan, are you going to be okay? You can go back to Boston if you need to," Haley replied. Haley put a hand on my shoulder. I lifted my head to meet his dark, nearly black, eyes.

"I'm not ready . . . I'll arrange a burial for him. We have no family to go to it . . . it really is just the damnedest thing . . . my brother died, but in death, I'm jealous of him . . . he at least gets to be with Mom," I rambled. I wasn't sure why I blurted out those words that sounded so insane. Haley nodded as if he understood; I was sure that he felt that after his wife committed suicide. He told me about that last night; he talked a lot when he drank. It was nice to know that I wasn't alone in my self-destructive desires.

"Jordan, Dr. Macy wants you to know that he loves you . . . he wants you to stay safe," Haley whispered. I was safe; they were safe. I'd have to work damn hard to hurt them from all the way across the country.

"Did you see Woody?" I asked. I knew Haley was anticipating this question; I could see it in his eyes.

"He looks rotten, Jord. He looks a lot like you do. He tailed me to the airport . . . I'm pretty sure I lost him in the concourse," Haley replied, "He wants you to come home . . . I can tell . . . he thinks he's done something wrong, Jordan. What did he do wrong?"

"Haley, I was the one that was wrong," I replied.

"Jordan, come home with me tonight . . . you shouldn't be alone," Haley replied as he gently squeezing my shoulder, "You've had a rough day."

LA: Woody's POV

"Nigel, were you able to trace her credit card?" I yelled into the telephone in an attempt to overcome the static.

"I was able to hack into some files. One purchase caught my eye . . . it's an authorization in Los Angeles for Sunset Inn. Let me get you an address," Nigel replied, "Dr. Macy went to your court marshal as your proxy . . . he talked Walcott into giving you no more than a slap on the wrist . . . a three week suspension effective starting last week."

"That's good news," I replied. I had half expect to lose my job.

"Dr. Macy said that it went well . . . you should have never been asked to respond to a homicide involving the Cavanaugh family. Doc did want me to pass on that you should get your ass on a plane back to Boston," Nigel replied, " 1124 Somerset Way . . . by the ocean. Woodrow, make sure she's okay. Try to bring her home."

"I will, Nigel. Thanks," I replied. I hung up my telephone. I rented a small compact car; I found that my legs would barely fit into the car.

This was the first time that I was thankful that my brother was working for the Sunset Division in LA. I missed him come holidays, but I understood the commitment that went with the job. I liked mine a lot more; my job only consumed my life if I wanted it to.

I pulled up outside her hotel. The parking lot was nearly empty. The hotel looked like it was built in the 50's. The main building looked as if it would topple to the ground if the wind blew hard enough. I dialed Cal's cell phone number.

"Hoyt," Cal responded . . . he sounded groggy. I thought that was odd; it was only eight in the evening.

"Cal . . . I'm in LA," I said.

"Why?" Cal sounded confused; I didn't normally make rash decisions. Cal was the one that acted on his gut instinct; I was the one that needed to think things through and have back up plans. I rarely acted without thinking; every time I had, I wound up suspended.

"Jordan," I replied. I had told him about Jordan last Christmas. He said to be careful; I said that I thought Jordan just might be worth the risk. Cal asked if Jordan thought I was worth the risk; I told him that the jury was still out on that. Jordan had issues; commitment, trust, and a thousand other ones that I was too tired to think of.

"What can I do to help?" Cal asked yawning.

"Do you know of an Agent Haley? He's an FBI profiler," I asked.

"Drew Haley . . . I've had the pleasure several times. Word is that he's working up a series of arsons. What else do you need to know?" Cal replied . . . sarcastically . . . I was glad that I wasn't the only one that thought Haley was an ass.

"Where's he working?"

"Classified . . . I'm not going to get my ass fired so you can get the girl," Cal replied.

"Have you heard anything about Jordan?"

"She must be the new hot ME . . . word is that she keeps to herself. She doesn't really interact with anyone besides Haley. Haley watches over her like a hawk. One of the guys in the lab made an off color comment about her . . . Haley was all over his ass," Cal replied.

"I'll make my way to the office tomorrow . . . get a look-see if at all possible. I'll call you later, Wood. Don't do anything stupid," Cal lectured.

"Thanks," I hung up my telephone. I walked into the lobby. An old man was sitting behind the desk. He was sleeping. He slowly looked up as I approached; the old man seemed apathetic to my presence.

"Sir, I'm looking for my wife. Jordan Cavanaugh. Could you please give me her room number?" I asked. The old man looked down at a handwritten log; he slowly turned in his rolling chair and retrieved a k.ey

"35 B, upstairs and to the right," he said . . . thrust a room key at me.

I stood outside her room. I knocked several times before I was satisfied that she wasn't there. Only then, did I enter her room. It was immaculate. It wasn't something that I would expect for Jordan. Her things were neatly folded in her suitcase. Her suits were hung in the small closet; I didn't even know Jordan own one of those let alone three. There was a picture of Jordan, Garrett, and Nigel on the nightstand. It was taken at the Pogue; the three looked so happy. I wished that a picture of me had made it onto her nightstand. A letter lay on the bed. The ink ran in some areas; the paper was deformed from her tears. I picked it up; I didn't want to invade her privacy, but I wanted to know what could possibly be so sad that it would make her cry. I could count all the times that Jordan had cried in front of me on one hand.

_Jordan,_

_I knew this day was coming. I'm sorry I let you fall apart; I'm sorry that I wasn't the one person that you could count on to help you. I wanted to be that person; I wanted you to know I'm not a slave to Walcott . . .you'll always come first. You've always come first._

_I'd ask you to come home, but I know that decision is yours alone. Just be safe. Make sure that Haley takes care of you. Make sure you come home . . . I'll keep your office warm for you._

_-Garrett_

_PS Call Woody. He's like a damn caged rat in my morgue. Call Nigel too. Hell, just call everyone._

I let the letter fall back onto the bed. I sat on the bed and waited. I was going to wait for Jordan. I had so much to say to her; I had so much to apologize for. I missed her; I wanted to bring her home.


	4. Chapter 4

LA: Jordan's POV

"I should walk you to your room," Haley said as he helped me out of the town car. He told the driver to park for a few minutes. We had far too much wine tonight. Haley swayed as he walked me to the base of the stairs. I laughed. I told him that he was an easy drunk; I wasn't much better. We laughed. I touched his arm; it was nice to feel the warmth of skin next to mine.

"Haley, I'm fine. Call me in the late morning . . . or afternoon. Whenever you think my hangover is going to be tolerable," I replied. Haley relinquished his grip on me; I wasn't sure if I wanted him to. I remember our first and last night together. It was filled with a passion and longing that I had never felt before; two desperate people trying to cling to each other.

Haley kissed my cheek. He watched me walk up the stair. I clung to the railing. I was a little dizzy; I didn't know what to blame it on . . . the wine or the man. I struggled with the lock on my door. I had to check the number on the door several times before I was even satisfied that it was my hotel room. I immediately kicked my shoes off and began to retreat to the bathroom to take my makeup off.

"Jordan."

Woody was sitting in the corner of my room. His voice scared me; I was thrown off balance. I think I tripped over my own feet . . . nearly falling over as I reached for the nearest stable object.

"What are you doing here?" I asked. My voice cracked; I wobbled a little as I clung to a table.

"I came to find you," Woody said. He stood up. He closed the door; I hadn't closed it on my way in. I hoped he didn't think that I came to California to drown all my woes in alcohol. I wondered why it matter what he thought of me; I had to remind myself that he was the one that arrested me.

"You shouldn't have . . . Woody, you should go home," I whispered. I wanted to tell him that I needed more time to get myself together. I had to bury my demons before it was safe for me to go back to Boston.

"Jordan, come home with me," Woody said. He stood in front of me; he put his arms around me much like he had before he read me my rights. I tensed against his body. He pulled away a little; Woody could easily see that I didn't feel safe in his arms as I did weeks ago . . . before Malden.

"I can't . . . I can't go back," I replied.

"Jordan, don't leave like this. Everything at home is over. It's over, Jordan. James is in the morgue . . . Malden is in a grave," Woody said, "Jordan, you can trust me."

Trust was a tricky thing . . . it was fragile . . . so hard to rebuild after it had been broken.

"Woody, I need to sleep . . . I have to work tomorrow," I lied. I wanted him to leave; I wanted a few moments alone with my thoughts.

"Can I stay the night?" he asked.

"When does your flight leave?" I asked cautiously. I didn't understand why he didn't see that I was poison; I hurt everyone around me because I was self-centered, fixated on something that wouldn't really impact anyone but me.

"I don't have a flight to leave on . . . I'm not leaving without you," he replied.

"What about luggage?" I asked.

"None . . . I was in a hurry," Woody replied.

"Haley told me . . . he thought he lost you in the concourse," I replied. I laughed; it was just like Haley to be overconfident. I appreciated it occasionally; it was nice to feel like I didn't always have to be the one to be right.

"Jordan, can I stay the night?" he asked again. He must have realized that I had drifted off into space.

"I guess that would be okay," I replied . . . trying to numb my feelings for him.

"Jordan, open up. You forgot your homework," Haley called out as he pounded on the door; he was slightly drunker than I was.

I walked to the door pretending to be statuesque and composed. I opened the door; Haley was smiling. He leaned on the doorway.

"You know what . . . Jo, you're trouble," Haley said in a drunken stupor, "I've been needing a little trouble in my life."

Haley put his hand on my cheek; he smiled and handed me my case folders. He reminded me to get my homework done tonight so we could enjoy our day off. I was surprised that he didn't see Woody. I half expected them to go at it. I knew Woody had some twisted feelings for me; I knew Haley felt something when he touched me. I could see it in Haley's eyes; he let his guard down when he was with me. I didn't want a relationship; I think I just wanted to get lost in someone without commitments or expectations. I just wanted to feel something real; something other than anger and shame. I was thankful that Haley left without seeing Woody; I was thankful that Woody didn't decide to defend someone that wasn't even his to defend.

"Is that why you ran?" Woody asked. He looked at the floor; I didn't want to see his eyes. I didn't want confirmation that I had hurt him again.

"No, I ran . . . I ran to protect you," I whispered as the tears ran down my face.

"How were you protecting me? I'm the one that runs after you . . . cleaning up messes . . . nearly getting fired from my job," Woody ranted. He swiftly moved toward me. My body was trapped between him and the closed door.

"I don't want to hurt you anymore . . . I left because I didn't want to hurt you anymore," I cried. I could tell by the flicker of anger in his eyes that he didn't believe me.

"Did you ever think that by leaving . . . you hurt me more?" Woody asked; his breath hot on my cheek.

"Woody, please," I pleaded with him; I needed more space so I would be able to breathe.

"Jordan, why did you run to him?" Woody whispered in my ear; it made the hairs on my neck stand on end.

"Because . . . he runs too . . . he never lets anyone in . . . I can't hurt him because I can't touch him," I cried. Woody walked away. I slid down the door to the floor; my sobbing was uncontrollable.

"I should go," Woody said softly.

I stood up; I was unsteady in my high heels. My case file fell on the ground; the pictures scattered on the ground. I tried to put them back in order. The one picture always caught my eye; I ran my finger along the edge of the photograph. She was ten; she had beautiful honey colored eyes. Even in death her eyes were beautiful. The picture nauseated me. I stumbled to the bathroom to rid my stomach of all the wine, but I really wished I would be able to purge all the memories and anger.

Woody's POV

I picked up the picture; the girl was badly burned along her legs and her torso. I could hear Jordan retching in the other room. I wondered why; Jordan had seen this before, but I guessed that seeing a child was always harder. I picked up the file folder named 'Firestarter' and put it on the table. I looked at the picture again. I was transfixed by the girl's honey colored eyes; there was something familiar about those eyes . . . even in death something looked familiar.

I could hear Jordan sobbing. She probably thought that I was long gone by now. She probably thought that she had successfully pushed me away. Jordan probably thought that it was safe to feel in the loneliness of a hotel room in a state so far away from home.

"Jordan, your mother started fires didn't she?" I whispered. I sat next to her. I had never noticed the burns on her hands. They were small; it looked like there was so attempt at plastic reconstruction. It was a good attempt, but it couldn't erase what happened. I couldn't believe how many times I held those hands without noticing. I don't think I ever asked her about that stuff . . . I wondered if it was ever right for me to asked those questions.

Jordan didn't answer she only cried harder. LA was supposed to be an escape; it was supposed to keep her hands busy . . . keep her away from her mother. It was supposed to suppress her urge to go after personal justice damn the consequences. It didn't; it only broke her heart a little more. She probably thought that it was better than hurting the people around her. Jordan was remembering everything that I knew she strived to forget. She was determined to do this alone; I wished she knew that she didn't have to.

I let her fall into my arms. I never claimed to understand Jordan, but right now she seemed a little simpler; she wanted to suppress the memories of her mother, her father, and her brother. All that running to be confronted with the same demons.

"She only did it twice . . . setting the paper in the bathroom wastebasket on fire . . . I remember waking up and smelling something burning . . . I used my hands to carry water to the fire," Jordan replied as she ran her fingers along the scars. This case had become personal. I knew she wouldn't just leave on a plane with me.

"Jordan, I'm so sorry," I whispered; I knew coming from me the words didn't mean much . . . she needed to hear those words from her mother.

"I'm sorry, too," Jordan replied as she climbed to her feet and walked over to the bed . . . kicked off her shoes . . . she unbuttoned her shirt . . . turned to avoid my gaze. She pulled off her shirt . . . letting it fall to the floor . . . unfastened her bra . . . letting it fell beside her shirt . . . I took small steps forward . . . tiny little scars all over her back. She quickly pulled on a t-shirt . . . pulled off her pants and pulled on her pajama pants . . . pulled back the covers and laid in bed . . . avoid my stare.

It would have been impossible for Max to say no to the dirty money . . . his wife needed help . . . she was abusing his baby girl. Jordan . . . Jordan she searched for her mother's killer . . . out of love . . . she immersed herself in the love she thought she should have for her mother . . . trying to forget how much resentment she had for her. Jordan was just trying to be a good girl . . . make it up to her mom. Everything seemed a little clearer.


	5. Chapter 5

I woke . . . my head pounding . . . I was only vaguely aware of where I was. I stood up stumbling to the bathroom . . . wanted to vomit as I had last night. I splashed cold water against my face . . . retreated back to the bed . . . all I could feel was the vertigo.

"I wasn't sure if you were going to wake up," Woody whispered . . . he pulled my hair off of my face.

"I don't want to wake up," I replied.

"I got you breakfast . . . I thought some toast and orange juice was probably all you would be able to handle this morning," he replied . . . I wasn't sure where he slept last night . . . I had fallen asleep to the sound of myself sobbing . . . I spent the entire night tossing and turning . . . waking from nightmares that never seemed to end . . . stumbling to the bathroom to vomit. All I could picture was my tiny hands . . . blistering . . . reddening . . . glistening with pus . . . my mother yelling at me . . . slapping me across the face . . . my father coming to rescue me . . . taking me to the hospital. I didn't go to school that week . . . my hands were bandaged too tightly . . . Mom went to Grandma's house . . . I stayed with the next door neighbor. The pictures were so vivid . . . it seemed like just yesterday . . . every time I looked at my hands I saw my reminder.

"Thank you," I replied . . . rolling over on to my back . . . the tears threatening to fall down my cheeks.

"You can talk to me, Jordan," Woody replied.

"I don't want to talk about her anymore . . . she's gone," I replied . . . the tears stinging my cheeks, "What time is it?"

"Two in the afternoon," Woody replied.

"Jordan, are you awake," Haley called out as he pounded on the door . . . he needed a damn cell phone . . . the pounding aggravated my headache . . . made my stomach churn. I pulled myself out of bed . . . made my way to the door.

"What happened to you?" Haley asked . . . I tried to keep myself from vomiting all over his feet, "Do you need to go see a doctor?"

"I am a doctor," I replied.

"Well, the kind of doctor that works with the living people. Aren't you going to invite me in?" Haley asked . . . I stepped aside . . . I was sure that he was going to be delighted to see Woody . . . I still had mixed feelings about seeing Woody, "What the hell are you doing here?"

I stood back waiting for the fireworks.

"I had to come see if Jordan was alright," Woody replied calmly . . . he stood up from the bed . . . his clothes wrinkled.

"Well, she's fine. You can leave now," Haley replied . . . looking at me as if I had done something to provoke this.

"I'm not leaving until I'm satisfied that Jordan's okay," Woody challenged him.

"Well, she's fine . . . she has work to do," Haley replied . . . never losing his cool.

"Does she even look like she can work?" Woody yelled at him . . . pointing at me.

"Please stop," I said weakly . . . this was not my finest moment . . . I felt like I could fall to the floor any second . . . I was so tired . . . the memories were back in my head.

"Jordan, let's go . . . I'm taking you home with me," Haley demanded . . . I wasn't sure why he was making such a scene . . . the case didn't seem that sensitive, but with Haley . . . he never told you what he was thinking . . . what he knew.

"No, please . . . please just leave me alone right now," I said brushing Haley off . . . the smell of burnt toast . . .it permeated my mind . . . it smelled a lot like burning paper . . . the blackness . . . the black carbon matter . . . . I stared at my hands . . . the scars were so tiny, but their consequences were so large . . . I wanted my father . . . I wanted him to make this better.

"Jordan, you can talk to me . . . you can still talk to me the way you did years ago. Come with me . . . we can make all of this better," Haley said putting his hands on my shoulders . . . the gesture was odd . . . it was out of place . . . the context of this moment seemed all wrong . . . I wondered what he wanted from me, "Remember, Digger . . . remember how you told me about your mother. Come talk to me, Jordan."

"Haley . . . Drew . . . please give me a day to rest . . . I'll be ready to work tomorrow," I replied weakly . . . his words were so manipulative.

"Jordan, take your day . . . tomorrow, we need to move fast . . . before Firestarter's next deadline," Haley said . . . cupping my right cheek in his hand . . . such a fatherly gesture . . . he turned to leave.

"Don't you dare take her anywhere," Haley warned Woody . . . he slammed the door.

"Is he always that manipulative?" Woody asked.

"No, not normally . . . he can be a pretty good guy. Woody, he's been taking good care of me," I replied making my way back to the bed . . . laying down . . . my head was throbbing.

"He doesn't really show that side of him much, does he?" Woody asked . . . he held a cold washcloth to my head.

Haley's POV

I stormed down the stairs to my car . . . I couldn't believe that he followed her here. It wasn't Detective Hoyt that bothered me . . . Jordan could have invited the entire Red Soxs line up to LA for all I cared. I assume that neither of them knew . . . I hadn't told Jordan much about the case . . . I wanted to take her to the next crime scene . . . have her process it . . . she had a good eye. I kept Jordan busy with work I knew wasn't important . . . I was saving her for the grueling task of investigating an arson just hours after the fire was extinguished . . . I knew there would be another fire . . . Firestarter promised me another fire.

Hoyt complicated things . . . they didn't know a thing about the current circumstances in LA . . . why the FBI was investigating fires. They didn't know about the shake up brewing at the Sunset Division . . . the Sunset Division wasn't even wise to the fact that I knew about the shake up. Corruption . . . you see it everywhere . . . it makes you sad when you know that the cop is actually a good person . . . it pisses you off when you know the cop is most likely your arsonist. Cal Hoyt . . . I had the pleasure several times . . . he was caught with cocaine last year . . . claimed that he was 'rehabilitated' this year . . . started setting fires this spring. The fires were a decoy . . . meant to sequester a good deal of the law enforcement in remote areas of the city . . . battling four to eight alarm fires. They always happened on 'drop days.' I had just become familiar with that term . . . the day that the cocaine is distributed from the warehouses that store elaborate smuggling operations . . . it's sent out to pimps, dealers, club owners, and ravers . . . the next door neighbor's teenage son probably knew how to score the coke . . . it seemed like all of LA did.

Cal had intimate knowledge of the smuggling operations . . . he spent two years investigating it . . . only to get hooked on the shit that he was supposed to be taking off the street. It started innocently . . . his informant promised him a quick hit . . . something to take the edge off of the stress his commander was putting on him. It always started innocently . . . Cal made good friends with people in the operation . . . he begged his supervisor to go undercover for a few months . . . it helped his addiction blossom. All of a sudden, Cal had money . . . his commander noticed . . . the prostitutes on Irvine sure noticed . . . his commander tried to get his partner to rat him out . . . she said that he had a drug problem. He was so deeply involved in sensitive surveillance . . . that it would have been impossible to decompress him and let him free into the drug world . . . his commander rehabilitated him . . . Cal came back . . . stupidly, he was allowed to come back to the same case . . . then all hell broke loose . . . the fires started . . . the letters to the Sunset Division started . . . they called me to profile the Firestarter . . . I did . . . Cal fit the profile.

Out of the blue, Jordan called me . . . I thought she would be perfect for the forensics . . . she was so hell bent on justice that I knew she would go to extreme lengths with me . . . I just didn't think that Hoyt would follow her. I read about James . . . about Malden . . . about Hoyt . . . I figured that she had shut him out . . . he did arrest her . . . was commanded to shoot her brother. Jordan would take it personal . . . she took everything personal.

I wanted Jordan to get attached to this case before she looked at the suspect list . . . I wanted Jordan to pursue justice in this case . . . the same way she pursued Digger. I saw the way she looked at Woody . . . I wasn't sure if that would compromise her ability to work on this case . . . to ultimately face the possibility of testifying against his brother.

Jordan's POV

"Jordan, let's go get lunch. We can go sit on the boardwalk . . . I remember how much you like the ocean," Woody said as he helped me out of bed . . . he was trying so hard . . . trying to pretend that Boston didn't exist . . . trust was so fragile . . . all the pretending in the world couldn't fix it.

"Didn't you want to go get some clothes or toiletries?" I asked . . . I didn't really want to go anywhere . . . I wanted to lay back in bed.

"That's where Nigel comes in. I called him this morning he's sending me some clothes same-day . . . they should be here this evening," Woody replied as he sat me in a chair next to the window . . . shoved a cup of coffee in front of me.

"You do realize that you are essentially asking Nigel to dress you for the next how long?" I replied . . . smiling . . . pretending . . . it felt good to momentarily forget about Boston . . . maybe he was on to something.

"As long as he doesn't pack his clothes for me . . . it couldn't be too bad," Woody replied smiling.

"Big brother, I have the stuff," someone pounding on the door yelled . . . didn't anyone around here just knock. Woody stood up and answered the door . . . I couldn't believe how much he looked like his brother . . . he never talked about his brother . . . the same blue eyes . . . stature . . . this brother was tanner . . . that was about the only difference, "Got enough clothes for you for at least a day or two . . . God, you look like hell."

"Cal, this is Jordan. Jordan, this is my little brother, Cal," Woody said . . . ignoring Cal's first comment . . . I tried to stand up, but I was too tired.

"You must be the FBI agent . . . working with Haley must be a bitch," Cal commented as he shook my hand.

"It's not easy," I replied . . . I didn't get the same vibe from Cal as I did Woody . . . Cal made me feel uncomfortable . . . his touch sent little shivers down my spine.

"Well, I'm with the Sunset Division . . . give me a call if you need any help. Wood, I need to get going. . . got some work to do," Cal said as he nearly ran out of the room.

"Is Cal always that jittery?" I asked . . . I was left confused by the initial meeting . . . nervousness, fidgeting . . . obvious signs that something deeper was going on.

"He must have something important to get to . . . he's as good as FBI . . . you know how much they work," Woody replied . . . as he disappeared into the bathroom with the clothes Cal had proved him with.

FBI agents were so much more composed than Cal . . . Cal was a disheveled mess. His hands were moving constantly . . . his mannerisms were strange . . . his rate of speech was off the charts. A thousand different psychiatric and medical diagnoses rushed into my mind . . . none of them something that an elite force officer could successfully function with if unmedicated. Something else was going on . . . I wondered if Woody knew something he wasn't telling me. Trust is a tricky thing . . . fragile . . . hard to rebuild once it is broken.

Woody's POV

I was worried about Cal . . . I had never seen him like that before. He rarely spoke of work . . . I figured it was because he was classified. He rarely spoke about his life in LA . . . never about girlfriends, dates, sporting events, or his lifestyle. I imagined that it was glamorous . . . Cal always had an eye for the most glamorous, idealistic way of life . . . he was the one that needed to leave Wisconsin to feel as though he accomplished something in his life. I left to avoid Annie . . . I'd never be able to go back . . . I couldn't sit by and watch her with someone else . . . it had been years, but I never really got over her . . . high school sweethearts . . . puppy love . . . whatever they call it. I preferred to think of it as a malignancy that successfully consumed all of me . . . taking me years to get it to dampen its hold on me.

I'm sure that Jordan noticed Cal's mannerisms . . . today, it was the only thing that really differentiated us. He was jittery . . . talking a mile a minute . . . his attention was non-existent . . . his eyes were bloodshot . . . he moved quickly . . . almost unnaturally. Jordan seemed uncomfortable around him . . . he did seem overwhelming. I was beginning to think that I had two reasons to stay in LA.

Author's Note: I'm not sure where to go with this story . . . or if I even like where it's going. Please let me know what you think about the story or what should happen! Thanks so much, Jac


	6. Chapter 6

Author's Note: Let me know what you think -- I'm trying desperately to figure out what I want to happen with this story without it turning into a soap opera. Any feedback is sincerely appreciated! -Jac

Jordan's POV:

The day was awkward to say the least. My head throbbed and my stomached ached. Woody spent the day trying to talk to me, but I was convinced that we had talked enough last night. I just wanted to make it through today; I wanted to make it through today without remembering and without hurting Woody. I wanted to regain some of the tact that I had lost last night; I had come to California to escape. I had come to California to begin to mend myself, but I found myself caught in some bazaar situation that is only supposed to happen in the movies. Woody wasn't supposed to follow me, and I wasn't supposed to let people know that deep down I resented my mother for scarring me in so many different ways. I was supposed to mend and forget. That's probably how I had gotten myself so messed up.

We stood out on the boardwalk. Woody and I didn't talk; we just watched the waves crash on the shore. It was cleansing; it was hypnotic. For three hours, I forgot that the rest of the world existed. I always ran to the ocean when I began to spiral out of control.

I began to think about Haley. In his drunken stupor, he had told me that I might be good for him. I wanted to argue the opposite; both of us had enough baggage. The thought of merging our baggage made me cringe, but life had taught me that somehow the most messed up people always managed to find each other. If they didn't . . . well, I would be out of a job.

I began to think about Cal. He wasn't what I expected; he didn't seem to fight into the classification of 'good Midwestern boy,' but I often didn't expect Woody to act as he did. I expected Woody to be glad that I was gone; I didn't expect to find his haggard form sitting in the corner of my hotel room. Woody would surprise me, but this afternoon, something about Cal scared me. I wasn't good at reading people, but something about Cal was definitely wrong. At this point in my relationship with Woody, I don't think that it would have been right for me to ask if Cal was always so scattered and manic. Those family secrets were personal; my mother's secrets were personal. When those secrets are exposed, so many people get hurt. Everyone that I loved got hurt.

"Jordan, are you hungry?" Woody asked.

"I don't know," I replied. Hunger was the furthest thing my concerns. I was much more concerned about how I would deal with Woody and Haley . . . and Haley and Woody. I was beginning to think that I had just started a power struggle. Woody wanted me home . . . I didn't know where home was . . . and Haley wanted me back to work. California only seemed to be complicating my already out of control life.

"Remember last time we were on this boardwalk," Woody said. I didn't want to remember; all my memories seemed too painful right now, "Home is right behind you . . . you came here to bring me home."

I had forgotten that, but his words brought back the memories. I had come to LA to bring Woody home. I missed him; I called in sick and hopped on a plane. I don't remember thinking the plan through; I missed him.

"I don't know where home is anymore," I replied. I was convinced that I had said that only in my head, but my ears heard the words.

"Why is it that everyone that is lost comes to California?" Woody asked, "There must be millions of people running around these streets trying to find themselves. Cal is looking for a bigger stage, I came here to define my relationship with Annie, Haley is running from God knows what. Next time, let's run to Texas or Florida."

I hadn't expected a ranting reply. Something must be on his mind.

"Someone hates California," I commented.

"I hate it because I know you are going to stay after I go," Woody replied. I'm positive that he did not intend to say that.

"Only until I can help Haley close the case," I replied.

"How long, Jordan? Max made me promise to take care of you while he was gone. I can't do that if you are in California and I'm in Boston," Woody replied. I was surprise that Dad would seek Woody out after all the trouble that he was in.

"A few weeks. That should give the dust enough time to settle in Boston," I replied. He was holding my hand.

"Jordan, they want you home," Woody said, "I want you home. I wouldn't have missed my court marshal for just anyone."

"You did what? How could you possibly that stupid? Renee is going to have a hay-day with that," I yelled at him. People were looking. We were standing face to face; it was like the last few weeks had just faded away.

"Jordan, Garrett handled it . . . I'm suspended for a few weeks. It's just a slap on the wrist," Woody replied trying desperately to calm me down. People were still watching us, but I didn't really care.

"Don't you dare put your job on the line for me again; I'm not worth it," I hissed as I began to walk away. Woody grabbed my wrist and pulled me back to him.

"Shut up," he said. His arms were wrapped around me; I was too tired to continue the fight, "Jordan, I love you . . . the job isn't important. Right now, you are a lot more important than Renee and her tirade against your family."

I didn't know what I was supposed to say. Last night when I told him that I only ran to protect him, he yelled at me. He accused me of flying across the country to shack up with Haley. I wasn't sure what he would say if I told him that I ran because I was sick of hurting the person I loved.

"Woody, don't say things you don't mean," I replied.

"Jordan, you talk too damn much," Woody replied. I had never been accused of that before.

He slept next to me in bed that night. He complained about the mattress. He complained about how I hogged the sheets. The 'L-word' was not mentioned again. We just fell into a comfortable banter. Isolated from the rest of the world, Woody and I could function like a normal 'couple.' I wondered what would happen to Woody when Haley and the Firestarter were thrown into the mix. Woody made it very clear that he was not leaving California without me. Part of me didn't want him to . . . part of me was ready to throw him on a plane and tell him that it was for his own emotional well-being. I was beginning to see just how long a few weeks might feel like.


	7. Chapter 7

Haley's POV:

Firestarter had struck again; it was a little after three in the morning. I collected Jordan at five in the morning, once the six alarm fire had ceased. I was surprised to see Hoyt asleep in her bed; she said that it was temporary. I didn't push for more information. She said that he was refusing to leave without her; I had heard that he was suspended for another week. I wondered if Jordan would be able to delve into the Firestarter if he was here; I knew that she would eventually find out that I strongly suspected Cal.

The embers were still warm; we hadn't found bodies this time. I was thankful that we didn't find bodies. Jordan asked why I didn't call out a crime scene unit; I told her that she needed to understand the crime scene even if she could not analyze it. It was the same as always. Gasoline and a rudimentary incendiary device; it was a drop day. I'm sure that the shipment of cocaine made its way out of some remote dock or warehouse while the entire city was trying to put out the fire in the abandoned hotel. Hookers littered the street; homeless people watched the commotion.

Today, Jordan would meet the crime scene investigator that she would be working with. I hoped that she would give him her full cooperation. It might be the first time that I would get to see Jordan cooperate with something other than her own free will.

"Haley, there had to be accelerants. The point of origin is right over by the front door . . . someone didn't want to be here when this big boy lit up," she commented.

"There always is. Jordan, why do people set fires?" I asked her; I knew I would end up reciting the answer, but I wanted her to start getting into the mind of the Firestarter.

"Revenge, thrill-seeking," Jordan replied.

"I think Firestarter uses it as a diversion," I replied.

"Why?" Jordan replied. She looked intrigued; it was sexy how she arched her eyebrows.

"The second and fourth Tuesdays of the month are called a drop day. Drop day is when cocaine is distributed. It's nice to have law enforcement sequestered in the polar opposite side of the city . . . or that's at least my best guess," I said. Jordan nodded. She looked angry.

"Why do you need me? This isn't a case where your bodies are going to help you," Jordan commented.

"Jordan, I need your brain . . . your deductive reasoning. I need you to take care of the science, so I can work on the profile. You're going to be working with one of the best forensic scientists in California," I said. I knew she would rather be working with her own team. "Dr. Josh Bennett. Jordan, I need you two to help me."

Jordan looked like she recognized the name. She looked willing. She almost looked excited to be working, but I figured she might just need a break from Woody. Woody seemed to complicate everything beyond my wildest imagination. I didn't want this situation to emulate the one involving James; the one that Jordan was trying to nicely tuck away.

"Wow . . . I guess you really pulled out the big guns for this one," Jordan replied with a smile. I helped her negotiate some of the debris; she leaned on me a lot like she did the other evening. I liked Jordan; I liked her enough to keep tabs on her while she was still working in Boston. It was amazing how much information you could get with a simple telephone call; I never called her . . . I called the Boston branch of the FBI. They all knew Jordan well; I understood why. Moth to a flame; it was so tempting to get close to her even if I got burnt.

"Dr. Cavanaugh, let me drive you back to your hotel. I'll pick you up at nine sharp," I replied as we walked out of the skeleton of the abandoned hotel, "Now, it is time for the CSIs to come in and gather evidence for you and Josh."

"What do I do with Woody for the day?" Jordan asked. I knew why she asked; I had reminded her that this was all classified. I honestly didn't know what to do with Woody either; I had contemplated involving him in the case . . . just busy work. I figured that would be enough to keep him busy; I had toyed with the idea of requesting he work with the Sunset Division for a week. I just didn't want him to tip-off Cal; I needed both of them to always be in my line of site. Cal had lost his tail last night; the agent that lost him was going to have hell to pay . . . I needed to know where he was 24/7. It would either give him an alibi or provide some circumstantial evidence to support my profile.

"I'll have a rental car dropped off . . . he could look for a less seedy hotel. Jordan, this is on the government. You should stay somewhere comfortable," I replied as I opened the car door for her. She brushed up against me for a moment; it brought back so many memories. I liked the way she felt; I often dreamed of how she felt.

"Sounds good. Thank you so much for being so accommodating," Jordan said with a smile. I closed her door and made my way into the driver's seat; I liked to be in control.

"Jordan, anything to keep you on the case. May I ask what exactly is the circumstances . . . you and Woody?" I asked. That was the most inept sentence that I ever managed to put together.

"Friends . . . maybe drowning medical examiner and life raft," Jordan replied. 'Complicated' would have sufficed, but I did appreciate her honesty.

"What do you know about Cal Hoyt?" Jordan asked. Her question took me by surprise.

"Sunset Division . . . a little rough around the edges," I replied. I could tell her now or I could tell her later. I thought telling her later would probably be the way to handle this one.

"Any mental disease?" Jordan asked. I wondered what she was trying to get at. "When I met him today . . . he was acting like a full blown manic. I don't think Woody knew what it was either."

"Oh. I'll send some feelers out this morning," I replied. I had barely managed to get myself out of this situation. I was glad that the fire was only ten minutes away from the dumpy little hotel that she was staying in.

"Go get some sleep, Jordan," I instructed as she got out. She smiled and waved at me. I wished Jordan was less complicated; I wished that I hadn't told her that I thought she might be good for me. I watched her walk away; I hoped she wouldn't get hurt in the mess that was only beginning.

Woody's POV:

I heard her come in. I rolled over to see that it is only six thirty; I sit up a little bit. Jordan pulls her clothes off. She's sleeping in a bra and panties. I want to yelled at her for tempting me, but I take solace in the fact that she is even comfortable enough to do that around me . . . especially after I inadvertently said the 'L-word' yesterday.

"Hey," I manage to say as she slides into bed next to me.

"It was bad, Woody. It was bad," Jordan replies. It must be devastating for her to see the aftermath of fire; she's probably thinking about how lucky she was that the only remnants of her mother's fires are the small scars on her hands. It could easily have been her life.

"Are you going to be okay?" I asked as she pulls the covers towards her side of the bed. I wished she would just roll closer to me and share the covers.

"Yeah, I'm going to try to get a little more sleep before I go to work," Jordan replied. She rolled closer to me when she realized that I was barely covered by the sheets. "I haven't had to share in a really long time." It's an awkward statement; I had a hard time imagining Jordan ever sharing her bed. Jordan didn't like commitment; I hoped someday that would change.

"Oh. Okay . . . I can go get breakfast while you shower," I offered. It was the least I could do; I was surprised that she hadn't kicked me out of her hotel room yet. I was hoping that I wouldn't wear out my welcome before the last seven days of my suspension.

"That would be good. You should go find a nicer hotel for us to stay in; Haley is going to have a rental car dropped off for you today," Jordan replied as she struggled to get comfortable. With that she was out like a light. All I could do was stare at her; she could probably feel my eyes all over her body, but I couldn't help myself.

I wasn't sure when I realized that I loved Jordan. I think it was when James had Jordan trapped in that squad car; I remember wondering what I would do if I lost her. I came close to losing her that night; I came closer to losing her when she ran. I tried to do what was best for her; I wasn't lying when I said that the job didn't matter. I knew how much it hurt to lose your parents; I was thankful that my loss was easy to resolve. My mother died of cancer and my father's murderer had committed suicide in the jail. Jordan was lost in a dangerous limbo of loving too little and loving too much. I wished that she would understand that it was the disease that made her mother hurt her; I wished Jordan would understand that she didn't owe her mother a damn thing.

Out of the all the places to run, I couldn't understand why she chose the FBI. Leave it to Jordan to chose a job that is about a million times more dangerous than being a medical examiner in Boston; I wished she valued her life the way I did.

"Please keep her safe," I whispered, but I didn't know who I was asking.


End file.
